High Stakes
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Roarke and Leslie try to help a man who desperately wants to end his vampiric existence. Follows 'Dust of One Summer'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _I never dreamed it was going to take me this long to finish this story, and I spent a lot of time second-guessing what I'd written and trying to improve it. But I think I'm finally ready to put it behind me. The story came from an idea originally pitched to me by Harry2, so this one's for him. Hope I've done it justice!_

* * *

§ § § - October 27, 2007

With Halloween the talk of the island's children—including the triplets, who had picked up the concept from April Harding and Kevin Knight—Leslie shouldn't have been surprised at the fantasy of one of their guests this last weekend in October. "Ms. Claudia Barneveld," Roarke introduced her, "coming to us from Kirksville, Missouri, where she works as a nurse. She is twenty-seven years old and single, and is hoping that her most cherished fantasy can be fulfilled this weekend."

"And that would be what?" Leslie prompted. She went through so much mail that she seldom remembered individual guests or fantasies anymore; even though she was usually the one who scheduled them, she did this several months in advance.

"To meet a vampire," Roarke said simply.

His voice was low and filled with several not-so-positive emotions, one of which Leslie thought sounded like disapproval. "That tone of voice tells me there's more to it than that," she said.

He nodded, eyes on Claudia Barneveld as the slim brunette stepped onto the grass and took in her surroundings with wide eyes and an equally broad smile. "All her life, she has been deeply fascinated by vampires, and reads everything about them that she can find. It has been her greatest wish, she says, to meet the real Count Dracula, face to face…" He hesitated, glancing at his daughter for the first time. "To get to know him in the flesh."

Something about the way he looked when he said that made Leslie decide to forgo further questions for the time being. Roarke greeted his weekend guests and Leslie smiled at them, but she already had about a dozen questions for her father.

‡ ‡ ‡

Claudia Barneveld was in a state of what Leslie thought of as "controlled excitement" when she arrived at the main house less than an hour later. She had changed from the smart brown-and-tan silk dress she'd worn on the plane to a pair of white shorts and a colorful tank top, and there were simple, thin gold chains around her neck and one wrist. "Okay, I'm ready," she said as soon as she'd stepped into the study. "Take me to the count."

Leslie gulped back a laugh, and one side of Roarke's mouth twitched; they exchanged glances that made Leslie have to stifle another giggle. "Forgive me if it seems as though I'm delaying, Ms. Barneveld," Roarke said, still standing from where he'd arisen when Claudia walked in, "but I'd like to ask you a few questions first, if you don't mind. Please have a seat; may we get you anything?"

Claudia shook her head, but settled in the leather chair beside the one Leslie occupied and crossed one leg over the other. "Well, all right," she said, watching Roarke resume his own seat. "What about?"

"Your fantasy," said Roarke. "Specifically, precisely why you have this particular fantasy, and why you wish to have it granted."

Claudia shrugged. "I've always loved vampires," she said. "Ever since I can remember. There's just something…I don't know, romantic about them, I guess. They…" She frowned, for the first time becoming more serious. "They seem like tragic figures. Trapped in an everlasting hell that wasn't even of their own making."

"I see," Roarke murmured, watching her carefully. Leslie wondered what was running through his mind right then.

"It all started with Dracula," Claudia said with a half-sheepish grin. "I watched the classic black-and-whites with my older brother—he was going through a phase at the time. He had a thing about creepy creatures…vampires, zombies, ghosts, werewolves and what-have-you. Anyway, he used to rope me into watching all those old horror movies with him, and most of it repelled me, but there was something about Dracula that stuck with me. Even though he was supposed to be evil, I felt sorry for him."

Roarke nodded. "I see," he said again, but his face was uncharacteristically serious. "So…if you were to meet the count, what exactly would you do?"

Claudia eyed him curiously. "Why? D'you mean he's here now?"

Roarke frowned; Leslie, seeing him searching for the precise wording he wanted, took the chance to air a memory that had resurfaced since they'd returned from the plane dock. "To tell the truth, I remember showing him your letter when it came here a few months ago and both of us being a little confused. You carried on like Count Dracula was some sort of…I don't know, like a rock star you've admired since your childhood. Are you planning to get his autograph or something?"

Roarke awarded her a bemused smile but turned to Claudia. "I may not have put it in just those terms, but that is the gist of what I am asking."

Claudia sat up straight in her chair and folded her arms over her chest, glaring. "Mr. Roarke, you're supposed to be able to make any fantasy come true. I just want to meet Count Dracula. If that's too much to ask, then refund me my money and I'll take the next plane out."

She and Roarke stared each other down while Leslie waited, tense, wondering if Roarke too was hiding something; then Roarke relaxed, just visibly. "I have no intention of denying you your fantasy," he said, his tone calm but steely. "However, I do need some specifics before I can do so, and thus far I have very few."

"You act like I've got some kind of hidden agenda," Claudia said indignantly.

Roarke parried without pause, "Do you?"

"Of course not," she shot back. "I want to meet Count Dracula. What on earth could possibly be the problem with that?"

Roarke still didn't look convinced, but he acquiesced. "Very well, Ms. Barneveld, I shall grant your fantasy." He returned to the desk and sat down once more before speaking again. "Unfortunately, as I'm sure you're aware, you will have to wait until this evening to do so. Since you therefore have the rest of the day at your disposal, you might like to sample some of our attractions."

Claudia grinned. "I read the website a couple nights ago while I was packing for this trip. Can't wait to rent a moped and get down to the amusement park. Uh…" She paused, having stood up to leave. "What time can I expect to meet him?"

Roarke's brows quirked, but he merely replied, "If you go to the luau this evening, you should see him there."

"How will I know him?" she wanted to know. "I mean…will he be dressed like he is in the movies, or has he adjusted for modern-day fashions, or what?"

"You'll know him," Roarke assured her, smiling ever so faintly. "You'll know him, I assure you."

Claudia waited a couple of beats, till it became clear that Roarke would offer nothing more; then she shrugged. "Okay, then, tonight at the luau. Well, guess I'll see about that moped. Thanks, Mr. Roarke and Mrs. Enstad."

Once she was gone, Leslie shifted in her chair so that she faced Roarke fully. "Okay, Father…what's the story? What makes you think there's more to this than she's letting on?"

Roarke shook his head, looking grave. "I don't think she has disclosed her true intentions with regard to her fantasy, and as a result she could be facing grave peril. I am very worried about her…and our other guest."

"What other guest?" Leslie asked. "Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Because, Leslie," Roarke said in a kindly tone, "our guest, too, is a vampire; and of necessity, he had to come here at night, as I'm sure you realize. He arrived on yesterday's final charter, after you and Christian had taken the children home."

Leslie nodded. "But who is it, then?"

Roarke settled back in his chair and pulled his suit jacket a little more closely around him. "His name is Jesse Stormwater; he left Carpathia many, many years ago and changed his name from the original Carpathian word to its direct English translation. His first name is also a cognate of his birth name. And he has a fantasy as well."

She waited, but he only smiled distantly, and she rolled her eyes. "You're gonna make me ask, of course. Okay, okay, then—what's his fantasy? Geez, now I know how Tattoo must have felt."

Roarke laughed at that, and she grinned back, inwardly relieved at the relaxation of the somber mood in the room. "Mr. Stormwater has expressed deep dissatisfaction with his existence. He became a vampire some decades before he was forced to leave Carpathia; he settled in a remote region of the American West, and has had to move several times over the years as that part of the country was gradually discovered and developed. Currently he resides in what he calls a very backwater section of northern Montana. But the enforced isolation in which he lives has become greatly disturbing to him; he is, as he puts it, 'tired of the undead life', and his fantasy is nothing more nor less than to no longer be a vampire."

Leslie's lower jaw gradually sank a few inches as she processed this idea; finally she looked at Roarke with a frown. "But there's no way to cure being a vampire, is there? The only thing that will end that state of being is a stake in the heart, or being exposed to sunlight, if I have my assorted creature-defense tales right. And that completely destroys the vampire. So it's either be a bloodsucker, or die."

Roarke's brows flew up again at the word _bloodsucker_, and he warned playfully, "I should caution you against the use of that word around Mr. Stormwater. To call a vampire a bloodsucker is as pejorative as any offensive racial term you may have ever heard. Or, to put it in a more contemporary way, it's as if you were to refer to one of J.K. Rowling's characters as a Mudblood."

"My apologies," Leslie said, tucking her chin under and eyeing him from beneath her bangs; he grinned, and she laughed in response before sobering again. "You didn't tell him you could actually grant his fantasy, though, did you?"

Roarke sighed gently and gazed into space. "I warned him that it's very unlikely that I can do anything for him, yes. I have done some research, and there may, just _may_, be a way to cure the state of being a vampire—but it's extremely difficult. It has been suggested that a vampire is possessed by a demon, once he has become a vampire; and in order to free said vampire from that state of existence, one must attempt to convince the demon to restore the vampire's soul."

"Which puts this in Mephistopheles' realm," Leslie put in.

"Unfortunately, yes. And as you are well aware, once Mephistopheles has a soul in his possession, nothing and no one can ever again retrieve it."

"But is Mephistopheles himself the demon in question?" Leslie asked, tilting her head aside in enormous curiosity. "I mean—remember when that little minion of his tried to get your soul for Mephistopheles by possessing Camille's son Craig and kidnapping Tobias? It's pretty obvious that Mephistopheles doesn't work alone. So what's to stop you from reasoning with the demon that has possession of Mr. Stormwater, rather than having to deal with Mephistopheles himself?"

Roarke studied her, impressed. "Very good thinking, my child! No, it's not Mephistopheles himself who has final say over Mr. Stormwater's state of being. But that makes it no easier to negotiate for the restoration of the soul. Vampiric demons are, in my experience, reclusive, elusive and extraordinarily possessive." He reclined in the chair, his gaze going unfocused again. "However, Mr. Stormwater's predicament is only one of my concerns. I am afraid that Ms. Barneveld, upon meeting him, will focus solely on the fact that he is a vampire—and I also fear that she may have ulterior motives."

"Of what kind?" Leslie asked.

"I can't say," he admitted, frowning. "I'm not clear on that just yet. My only certainty is that I have strong misgivings about Ms. Barneveld's unstated intentions. She herself may or may not be aware of those intentions, but I know she has them, whatever they may be." He came back to the moment and smiled at her. "In the meantime, why don't we go to see Mr. and Mrs. Smith at their bungalow; their patience will not last forever."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § - October 27, 2007

The Smith fantasy was a simple one, needing minimal supervision; so Roarke and Leslie were back at the main house well before lunchtime. In the side yard, Haruko Miyamoto—now seventeen and a senior at Fantasy Island High—was doing weekend homework at one of the umbrella-shaded tables scattered there, while keeping a sharp eye on the triplets as they played. Leslie glanced out the window at them from time to time as she and Roarke settled down to some paperwork behind the desk. When Haruko brought them in, it was within a few minutes of lunchtime, and Christian was just coming in through the French doors. He eyed Roarke and Leslie in surprise. "It looks as if you've been there for some time now."

"We have," Leslie said. "One fantasy's well in hand, and we can't do much with the other one right now, so we're taking the chance to catch up on the bureaucratic side of the business."

Christian laughed. "Yes, it's a necessary evil, isn't it? So, Haruko, are you eating with us?" She had taken up this habit since school had started, for it saved her the time she had previously spent running back and forth to the Miyamotos' townhouse; she was able to get more schoolwork done now.

"Sure," said Haruko, herding the triplets along toward the stairs. "I'll help the kids get their hands washed and meet you on the porch."

Christian watched till they were out of sight, then took the chair beside his wife, who spared him a quick smile. "So it must be a quiet weekend."

Roarke smiled faintly. "I wouldn't say that too loudly."

"I suppose that means this fantasy that has to wait till later is at fault for ruining what might otherwise be a routine weekend," Christian remarked, and got grins in response. "Well, I won't ask about it now, but as it turns out, I have the afternoon free. It's been slow at the office for a few days, and Julianne had to liven it up this morning by announcing that she and Adam Ryerson are officially engaged." Roarke smiled broadly and Leslie grinned at this news. "They're talking about next May or June, but nothing's settled yet."

"They don't have to be in any hurry," Leslie said, "but that's really good news. So that leaves only Jonathan. Does he talk much about his love life?"

"About as much as I talk about mine in public," Christian said, quirking an admonishing eyebrow and making her laugh. "But that doesn't mean we don't know anything. Julianne isn't above dropping tidbits here and there, when the mood strikes her. She says he's in regular and fairly frequent touch with Dania Branham—you know, Brian Knight's niece. I don't know if it will amount to anything; it's my understanding she's looking for work in her chosen field, but she'll have to move to a coastal area if she really intends to follow a career as a marine biologist. Indiana doesn't quite fit the bill."

Roarke had been listening; now he spoke up. "There are a number of marine concerns I had wanted to discuss with someone knowledgeable in that field, particularly in this age of worry over global warming and the gradual melting of the ice caps. The low-lying tropical island nations are endangered by rising water levels under such circumstances. Before either of you voices a protest, you need not worry; Fantasy Island is large and substantial enough to escape such a fate. Our beaches may shrink, but the island itself is in no danger. However, I think it might be advantageous to have a resident marine biologist. If Miss Branham is seeking work in that field, then perhaps you'd be so kind, Christian, as to procure from Jonathan some means by which I can contact her about this."

"You'd be doing us all a tremendous favor, Mr. Roarke," Christian said with a rueful half-grin. "Ever since Ingrid broke off her relationship with Jonathan last year, he's been a general damper on the office mood, to varying degrees. And it doesn't help that his current love interest can't be here. So this will certainly excite everyone." He went to the computer to send Jonathan an e-mail at the office in town.

Mariki appeared in the foyer as he was doing so. "Lunch is ready, everyone," she said. "I hope there'll be enough of you to do it justice."

"You say that every day since Haruko started eating with us," Leslie complained. "I wish you'd try tailoring the menu to the number of diners, instead of the other way around." That got her a round of laughter, even from Mariki.

Haruko was the first one to leave the table after the meal, pleading homework. "I got more than usual, and I really want to finish it all as soon as I can so I can have at least one day of my weekend free," she said irritably. Christian and Leslie laughed and let her go, and she headed back out to the same table in the side yard where she'd been working earlier, leaving the triplets in the care of their parents and grandfather for a little longer.

She was just gone when Mariki appeared on the porch. "I heard the phone ring in the study, Mr. Roarke," she said. "The caller left a message, but he sounded pretty urgent, so I thought you'd want to get back to him as soon as possible."

Roarke arose. "Thank you, Mariki," he said and crossed the veranda, disappearing around the corner of the house. Christian and Leslie busied themselves seeing to it that the triplets had finished, or wanted more, as the case might be. The girls decided they'd had enough and scampered off to the side yard at Leslie's behest; but Tobias was still hungry, and was happily working on a bowl of sliced native peaches when Roarke returned to the table, taking his chair.

"Want one of my peaches, Gram-father?" Tobias asked amiably, holding one up for display. "Dey're mmmm, yummy good."

"No, but thank you very much, Tobias," Roarke said gravely, though with a smile. Tobias grinned back and resumed eating, his expression that of one without a care in the world, and Christian and Leslie noticed—just for a half-second—a wistful gleam in Roarke's dark eyes before he focused on his grandson's mother.

"What's wrong?" Leslie asked.

"The caller was Mr. Stormwater," Roarke said. "He has asked that you and I come to see him at his bungalow at our earliest convenience. Have you finished?"

"She can go," Christian said. "I'll stay with Tobias till he's through. I hope it's nothing too serious, whatever it is."

Roarke just smiled a little and gestured at Leslie, who arose and gave her son a kiss atop the head, and then Christian a rather more intimate one before falling into step beside her father. "Bye, Mommy an' Gram-father," Tobias called, waving at them. Leslie grinned and waved back; neither Tobias nor either of his sisters had quite mastered the pronunciation of _th_ as yet, so that "father" sounded more like "fodder". But Roarke clearly didn't care; he was delighted that his grandchildren could talk well enough to hold short conversations now that they were nearly three and a half.

His amusement faded as he and Leslie strolled briskly along the path that led toward the bungalows. "So what _is_ the problem?" Leslie asked eventually.

"He didn't say," Roarke replied, "but I have the sense that he is very disturbed. We'll find out in a very few moments."

Roarke led her to the Lilac Bungalow and, after a few raps on the door, opened it, ushering Leslie in before pulling it closed behind them. The entire bungalow was so dark that they had to stand there on the tiled top step to let their eyes adjust before making their way down into the main room. "Mr. Stormwater?" Roarke called.

The door to the bedroom opened and out stepped a tall, dignified-looking man with dark hair combed in a rakish modern style; he was dressed casually, in khakis and a blue shirt with the first two buttons undone. There was a deceptively simple, but clearly very expensive, watch with a thick black band wrapped securely around one wrist. He looked a little too thin for optimal health, but he moved with ease and an unconscious grace as he approached them, hand outstretched. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Roarke," he said in a gentle Eastern European accent, though like Roarke's, his English was impeccable. "And I presume this is your daughter?"

"Yes, I would like to present Leslie Enstad," Roarke said.

"I am Jesse Stormwater," the man said with a smile that was no less warm for its sparseness; she could see he had something on his mind. "It's good to meet you."

"Likewise, Mr. Stormwater," she said with a return smile.

"What can we do for you?" Roarke inquired.

"Please sit down. Is there anything I can get you? A drink, perhaps?"

"No thank you, we just had lunch," Roarke said, smiling and taking the easy chair nearest the steps. Leslie settled on the matching sofa, and Stormwater sat beside her, though he took care to leave a proper amount of space between them.

He cleared his throat. "Mr. Roarke, is your daughter aware of my reason for being here? Have you told her anything?"

"I have filled her in on the fact that you want to be cured of being a vampire," Roarke said. "Is there anything you wish to add?"

"She needs to know only the basics," Stormwater replied, finding a more comfortable position in his seat. "There's no point in going into excessive detail. Although I must confess…I wasn't entirely honest with you either, Mr. Roarke. I didn't mention that I am the childe of none other than Count Dracula himself."

"You're his son?" Leslie asked, confused.

"Not _child_ as in offspring," Roarke explained, "but _childe_, as in those whom a vampire has transformed into vampires." He spelled the word and she nodded understanding; then he turned to Stormwater with a deeply unhappy expression. "Why did you fail to mention this to me beforehand?"

Stormwater folded his arms over his chest. "Because I thought that here, of all the places on earth, I would be safest. Perhaps I should have realized that, at least for one of my persuasion, it's the opposite. Is this not, after all, the gateway to earth for every creature and being imaginable to man?"

"It is too often necessary to place oneself in the gravest danger before one can be saved from that danger," Roarke noted. "You did the right thing in leaving your sanctuary and coming here, Mr. Stormwater. Unfortunately, we have another complication."

Stormwater frowned; deep grooves appeared in his forehead and his hands bunched into fists beside his thighs. "What would that be?"

"We have a young lady by the name of Miss Claudia Barneveld here this weekend, who has stated that her fantasy is to meet Count Dracula in person. That in itself would be dangerous enough, but I suspect she hasn't revealed everything to me that I should know." His gaze fell momentarily out of focus. "But I will find out…"

Stormwater didn't seem to notice. He blew out an explosive breath and grumbled in disgust, "Another groupie?"

Leslie stared at him, astonished. "Groupie?"

Stormwater snorted. "It's the popular culture of the day, Mrs. Enstad. Just when the human race had finally begun the long road to putting myth and superstition behind them, along came the entertainment industry. Where once it was kings and princes who were feared and revered, now it's actors and singers. What they have done to the menacing figures of the past! People of old were right to fear Dracula, until he was destroyed—"

"Excuse me a moment," Leslie broke in and turned to Roarke. "If Dracula was actually destroyed, then how are you going to have Claudia Barneveld meet him?"

"All in good time, my dear Leslie," Roarke said. "You know full well the nature of this island. Miss Barneveld herself said that I am supposedly capable of doing anything, did she not?" He gave her that smile that he knew full well drove her right up a wall, and gestured at Stormwater. "Please continue."

"Thank you. Yes, well—once Dracula was properly destroyed and was no longer a threat, people lost their fear and he became a legend. So much time has passed that there's no longer a clear distinction between what is legend but grounded in truth, and what is pure unadulterated myth without a shred of evidence to support it. So some fictional figures have been revered to the point of being elevated to godhood, while some historical figures are relegated to the clichéd dustbin of history and are regarded as mere horror tales. Dracula is one of the latter. Being ancient history as he is, he was ripe for sensationalizing, and therefore, countless motion pictures have been made of the man and the story. In the early days there was proper respect given the tale, but late in the last century…oh, I shudder to recall it. In the 1970s especially, Dracula became a comical figure. His image was softened to such an extent that impressionable young women began developing crushes on the man. I call them groupies because of this. Your Miss Barneveld is clearly one of them."

"That's as may be," Roarke said, "but the fact remains that she wishes to meet Count Dracula, and I have agreed to grant her fantasy."

Stormwater shook his head. "I don't like it, Mr. Roarke. I know you're quite capable of conjuring up the dread count himself just for the sake of having this young woman fulfill her warped little dream, but I disapprove mightily."

Roarke simply smiled. "I do not need your approval to do what I feel is the right thing to do, Mr. Stormwater. Be assured that it will all be revealed by the conclusion of your stay with us." He paused a couple of beats. "Was that the extent of your concern?"

"Not quite." Stormwater frowned again and stared into his lap for a moment. "I also wanted to ask you if you have found any answers to my own problem."

"There is research yet to be done," Roarke said.

"I see. You realize that I'll have to be confined to this bungalow until you can grant me my dearest wish, of course…"

"I quite understand, Mr. Stormwater. Now, if that is all…"

"I believe so, yes," Stormwater said, though there was something in his demeanor that made Leslie think he was lying. "Thank you for your efforts on my behalf."

"Not at all. If you'll excuse us…Leslie?"

She arose and followed Roarke out of the bungalow, glancing back once at Stormwater, who sat staring pensively into space and didn't notice her regard. Blinking in the sun, she paused to let her eyes readjust before turning to Roarke. "I think there's something else on his mind that he didn't tell us about."

"Indeed there is," Roarke agreed, to her surprise. "But as I said a moment ago, everything will be revealed by the weekend's conclusion."

Inside the dark bungalow, Jesse Stormwater rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He'd been feeling it all weekend—that insidious tugging on his mind, the hellish craving he'd fought every night for countless years now. He prided himself on the fact that he had found alternatives to human blood to keep himself alive. The precise nature of those alternatives would have horrified his hosts, he knew, but he believed it paramount to keep from drinking human blood at all costs. One of the problems with coming to this island, as he had finally been driven to do, was that it was such a popular vacation destination; there were dozens, sometimes hundreds, of people here at any given moment. The temptation might be more than he could resist—yet he must, if he was ever to be freed from this relentless curse.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § - October 27, 2007

Claudia Barneveld had exhausted most of the island activities that day, leaving out only the amusement park and the casino, and was in her bungalow liberally applying aloe vera to a glowing sunburn while impatiently awaiting nightfall. Roarke had promised to give her her fantasy, and she knew there was no choice, but it seemed as if this Saturday had been the longest day of her life.

She had treated her sunburn in every possible way she could think of by the time she donned a sundress that matched the burn and stepped out the door, on her way to the luau. These weekly parties were probably the most famous form of entertainment on this island, free to all guests, and she'd been looking forward to it since her arrival. When Roarke had told her she'd meet Dracula at the luau, it had given her even more reason to be excited.

There was a substantial crowd when she got there, with plenty of food, noise and lively Hawaiian music accompanying three exuberant fire dancers; but she had no eyes for any of this, instead eagerly scanning the crowd for the most likely candidate. Dracula had a certain look to him, after all, and hadn't Roarke said she would know him when she saw him? She began to wade through the throngs, searching every face.

Not very far away, Christian and Leslie were filling plates at the buffet in lieu of the usual evening meal; Leslie was also scanning the attendees, though more discreetly than Claudia was doing. "So," Christian said as she reached for a few bacon-wrapped pizza rolls, "you chose luau duty for precisely what reason? You rarely volunteer for it, as I recall."

She glanced at her husband and smiled. "Luau duty isn't always as boring as you seem to think I believe it is."

He rolled his eyes. "Not in my experience. The only thing you've professed to really enjoy about the luaus is the food. Come on, Leslie, confess."

She threw him a gently exasperated look. "What, I can't change my mind every once in a while and decide it might be fun to hang out at the luau? Listen, sometimes our friends show up here, and there've been times when those are the only chances I get to catch up with them. Maybe you should keep your eye out for a familiar face or two."

"In this mob? I doubt I'd recognize even Mr. Roarke if he should join us here, there are so many people. I wish you'd warned me before I decided to join you."

"I didn't know all these people would show up. You can always go home and take over babysitting duties from Ingrid, you know." Leslie speared several slices of mango and added them to her plate. "Anyway, something came up in the Smiths' fantasy and Father had to go take care of it right away, so it just made sense for me to come here."

Christian shrugged and reached for some mango himself. "I suppose I can consider it a small boon that it's so crowded that no one's paid any attention to me yet."

Leslie grinned to herself, added her usual few chunks of pineapple to her plate and turned to devote her full attention to the crowd. Cheers arose at some daredevil stunt by the fire dancers; a steady stream of hungry partiers flowed past her, plates in hand, choosing from the lavish buffet; shouts of names arose as various vacationers recognized or yelled out to one another. She remembered Roarke's words to Claudia Barneveld that morning about meeting her quarry here, and wondered how that was going to happen when it seemed every person on the island was here in this clearing. And as if she'd conjured their guest by the mere thought, she spotted Claudia cleaving her way through people, head swiveling left and right ceaselessly. She glanced around again, wondering if Count Dracula—or at least a reasonable facsimile—was really going to appear, and if so, whether he'd actually deign to immerse himself in such a huge lot of people.

"Mrs. Enstad." The name made her whip her head around so abruptly, out of startlement, that she winced when her neck ached sharply in protest. Jesse Stormwater noticed and stepped back slightly. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"No, no, that's all right. Did you just get here?" she asked, checking her plate to be sure she hadn't lost any of the contents.

He nodded. "I certainly did. Is it always this popular?" He peered around with a wary look in his eyes, as if he would rather have been somewhere much quieter.

"Not usually, although we do tend to get a lot of people at the luaus. This one just seems to be the big meeting place tonight for some reason." Christian appeared at her side at that point and she gestured to him. "Mr. Jesse Stormwater, meet my husband, Christian."

She might as well have saved the introduction, for Stormwater was already bowing to the prince. "Your Highness." Leslie had to stifle a smile when she saw Christian carefully hide the resigned look in his hazel eyes.

"Mr. Stormwater," Christian replied, professionally courteous, but with a thread of curiosity in his voice. "That's an unusual name."

Stormwater merely smiled. "Yes, it's an old one where I come from." He turned to Leslie without further acknowledgment of the surprised prince. "Can you tell me whether Mr. Roarke has found any answers for me?"

Leslie shook her head with regret. "I wish I could give you better news, Mr. Stormwater, but unfortunately he hasn't yet. He's been working hard on it—spent all afternoon holed up with a stack of books. Apparently it's very difficult to find a definitive solution, and he said something about how none of the sources seem to agree on the proper one."

Stormwater shook his head in frustration. "That has been my biggest obstacle as well, when I've tried to find answers on my own. Please, Mrs. Enstad, he must hurry. I fear I can put it off no longer…" His eyes were roaming the bobbing heads surrounding them; she saw a hungry look in them that chilled her.

"Put what off?" she asked, despite her better judgment.

The question seemed to snap him back to alertness; he tossed her a spooked glance and covered his eyes with one hand for a moment. "Forgive me, I'm afraid I must go now." He melted into the throngs before either Christian or Leslie could move.

Christian stared after him with a thoroughly bewildered and suspicious look about him. "What was that all about?"

"He's another guest of Father's," Leslie said, choosing her words. "His fantasy is…well, it's very difficult."

"I gathered that much," Christian said impatiently. "Is it forbidden to tell me?"

She weighed her options. Roarke had never really specifically forbidden her to discuss the fantasies with Christian; that was probably because she'd been talking about them, in generalities, with her friends since she'd first come to the island, and since Christian was family, there couldn't ultimately be any real concealment of at least some details. She sighed and turned to him. "Come here with me, where it's a little more private."

Christian followed her to the perimeter of the clearing, where the noise from the party provided sufficient cover for their conversation. "All right, tell me."

She drew in a breath. "Well, for one thing, Mr. Stormwater has…a condition that only Father has any hope of curing." She might have gone on in this vein, but a bit of ice glittered in the prince's eyes, and he stared at her with a look that told her he'd put up with no more prevarication from her. With an impatient sigh of her own, she capitulated. "All right, blast you—he's a vampire."

Christian recoiled, cursing in _jordiska_. "And your father's letting that man have access to you without strict supervision? Leslie Enstad, there'll be no arguing from you—I'm taking you home right this second, and if you lose your job over it, so be it. It's too dangerous, and I refuse to allow it."

Leslie gaped at him in amazement. Usually he reacted with skepticism or a laugh when it came to creatures that were supposed to be fictional; it was very unusual to see him take her seriously. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm not!" He caught her expression and managed to rein himself in a little. "Well, no—I don't necessarily believe in vampires _per se_, but there happens to be a disease called porphyria that's been known to run in some royal families. And our studies of royal inbreeding when I was growing up made too deep an impression on me. In case you didn't know, it's been repeatedly speculated that porphyria is the probable source of all the stories about vampires sucking the blood of innocent people. Perhaps the disease doesn't quite result in that, but then again—as you've so often reminded me—this is Fantasy Island, where the scientific and the mythological mix freely. Too freely for my peace of mind in this case. I want you back at home where you're safe from this man. If Mr. Roarke can't figure out how to cure him, then I fail to see why he allows this person to roam the island unrestrained."

Leslie scowled. "Dammit, Christian, you can't do that and you know it. Now if you really feel I'm in that much peril, feel free to stick close by me while we're here at the luau, but don't go presuming you have the right to bodily remove me from not only the premises but my duties as Father's assistant just because you think nobody but you has any self-control. Now get a grip on yourself and stop reacting like an uneducated peasant from the sixteenth century, will you? I know you're much more intelligent and informed than that, and to tell the truth, you really surprise me, going off like that."

"I don't like it," Christian insisted, glancing across the packed luau as if expecting Jesse Stormwater to rise like a specter from its midst. "Didn't you mention at lunch that your one guest is hoping to meet Count Dracula? Suppose _he_ shows up?"

Leslie followed his gaze. "Well…that I'm not sure about. Dracula's supposed to be long destroyed, but…" She snapped her mouth shut.

It was too late; Christian turned immediately to her. "But what?"

Disgusted with herself, Leslie admitted low, "Mr. Stormwater revealed to Father and me when we saw him after lunch that he's a childe of the count himself."

"_Childe_ with an E, or _child_ without an E?" Christian demanded.

_Should've known he'd know about that,_ Leslie thought, annoyed with herself all over again for having been ignorant before Roarke enlightened her. "With an E."

Christian muttered a couple of choice _jordiska_ curses to himself, shaking his head. "So it's altogether possible that you have a fiend running loose on this island, looking for innocent women and girls to prey on."

"My dear Christian," said Roarke's voice just then, making them both turn sharply enough to nearly lose their still-full plates, "I'm surprised at you. Mr. Stormwater engages in no such thing. In fact, he hasn't drunk human blood for a great many years now."

Christian and Leslie both stared at him, and Christian asked, "Then how in the world does he keep from wasting away? Don't vampires need human blood to continue to exist?"

"Indeed they do," said Roarke, gesturing his son-in-law and daughter toward a path that would take them back to the main house. "However, Mr. Stormwater has asked me to try to find a way to cure him of his current state of being. He is an honorable man who is repulsed by what he is, and has been subsisting for decades now on a substitute for human blood. It's not a complete replacement; as you both surely noticed, he is not in optimal condition. Nonetheless, he prefers it to seeking out innocent prey."

"I suppose he transforms into a vampire bat every night and joins a flock of them to find cattle's blood to drink," Christian said, still suspicious.

Roarke gave him an admonishing look. "You disappoint me, Christian, with your prejudice. Is it not enough for you that Mr. Stormwater despises his position in life—or in death, as the case may be—and wishes to change it? Is it not enough for you that he has gone out of his way to act honorably over the years? You yourself wanted a second chance with Leslie when your brother secretly married you to Marina those years back, and while she was reluctant because of her emotional pain, she allowed you that chance. Yet now here you stand, judging a man whose circumstances you're not fully aware of."

Christian let out a heavy sigh. "All right, Mr. Roarke, you've made your point. I do have a question, though. Is it actually possible to cure a vampire?"

"That's what I've been laboring to find out for some time now," Roarke said, casting a glance at the luau over one shoulder before they rounded a curve in the path that swallowed the scene from their sight. "It appears that, due to the varying solutions I have come across in my research, the element of luck may play as great a part in the prospective cure as anything I've been able to learn."

‡ ‡ ‡

Claudia still hadn't found Dracula, and was beginning to think Roarke had been putting her on, when she noticed a thin, sallow-looking man standing some distance from the buffet, scowling distantly in the direction of the fire dancers. He didn't look very healthy or very welcoming, but something about him drew her toward him, rather like a tractor beam towing her in. He saw her coming after a moment and stared at her, as if waiting to find out what she thought she was doing, presuming to approach him.

When she couldn't separate her gaze from his no matter how hard she tried, he got a resigned look about him and shifted his stance. "Yes, what is it?"

That stopped Claudia from pure surprise. "Am I bothering you?" she asked, trying to sound sarcastic but failing entirely. "Just say so and I'll leave." She couldn't believe the sound of her own voice; after a reception like that, she'd as soon have pushed him off a cliff than wasted another second with him.

But her tone seemed to soften him. "No…no, I apologize…my mind was elsewhere." He peered more closely at her. "You seem to have a healthy color about you. First one I've noticed since I got here."

Claudia looked down at herself and then grinned sheepishly. "Actually, this is a sunburn. I should've come off the beach a little sooner than I did. Goes with the dress though, don't you think?" She playfully pirouetted in front of him.

He laughed, and the unexpected warmth of it hit her right in the heart. "Quite nicely, if I do say so myself," he agreed.

"You look like you could do with a little sun yourself," she observed. "Believe me, if I could give you half of what I got today, I would."

"If I could take it, I certainly would," he murmured, his eyes losing focus. She thought he was staring at her neck, but he didn't seem to be looking directly at her at all. After a few seconds he roused himself, clearing his throat. "I am Jesse Stormwater," he offered, extending a hand to be shaken.

"Claudia Barneveld," she replied, taking it and blinking in amazement at how cold his palm was. "Are you all right, Mr. Stormwater?"

"Jesse, please," he said, looking a little surprised at his own words but not bothering to retract them. "I…I've been ill."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said Claudia. "Came here to recuperate, did you? I don't blame you. This place is probably the best on earth to do that."

"So I hear." He released her hand and glanced around them, then squinted at her with a sharp new light in his eyes. "Claudia Barneveld, did you say?"

"Yes, just call me Claudia," she said. "Why?"

"Mr. Roarke mentioned you to me. He tells me you have a fascination for Count Dracula." She nodded, and his face seemed to close down. "Greatly ill-advised, Miss Barneveld."

"Claudia," she corrected him, startled. "Why do you say that?"

"Do you not realize how thoroughly evil he was? What a scourge and a bane to all mankind?" He clearly saw her astonishment, for he grasped her arm and pulled her closer to his side. "Miss Barneveld—"

"Claudia," she insisted, "please, Jesse."

"Claudia. I've seen the romantic fantasies so many young women attach to the count. Believe me, you are far better off transferring your attentions to someone more deserving; he would never have thought twice about making you another of his victims…another childe of his. He is to be feared, not admired."

She smiled tolerantly. "Oh, it's not as bad as all that, really. I know the count was a fictional character and all; I just wanted to meet him this weekend."

"He was no such thing," Jesse insisted, his eyes fever-bright. His grip on her arm increased slightly; she could feel his iciness almost down to the bone, and wondered at it.

She patted his arm. "You need something to eat. Come on, there's a ton of food here."

"No," he barked out; a few heads swiveled and he cleared his throat, swallowing thickly and closing his eyes. "No. I…I can't eat. Claudia, I'm begging you."

She eyed him with new suspicion. "Okay, what's this all about, anyway? I hardly know you and here you are, handing out gratuitous advice."

He stilled and looked hard at her, so hard that she began to feel a sensation as if a long line of spiders had started marching up her spine. "Claudia…do you…could you…is there any chance that you might be able to trust me?"

The question was probably one of the very last ones she would have expected him to ask of her, and it caught her by such surprise that she had to think about it for a few seconds before she saw the desperate glint in his eyes. She didn't understand her immediate reaction to this: her heart melted and she promptly agreed. "I don't know why or how, when I've known you for less than ten minutes, but yes—I think I'd trust you with my life."

Relief swept over his face and he offered her his arm in an old-fashioned gesture that charmed her still further. She took it, staring up at him, wanting more and more to know everything about this man. She barely noticed the people around her anymore as he led her away from the luau and into a relatively secluded area where they could speak without their privacy being compromised.

"Tell me," she insisted when they had paused.

He closed his eyes briefly, swallowed so that she saw his Adam's apple dance in his throat, then met her gaze with a look of abject pleading. "Claudia, I am a vampire. I became this way because of Count Dracula himself, the very count you wish to meet."

Several possible responses flashed through her head: delight at meeting an actual vampire; doubt that he really was a vampire; realization that this was, after all, Fantasy Island and there was no reason he couldn't be a vampire…but then another reaction arose to drown all the rest. She shook her head in disgust and disappointment. "Mr. Roarke told me I'd meet the count himself, and what does he send? A cut-rate version!"

Jesse Stormwater stared at her, disillusionment blooming in his eyes. "As I said to Mr. Roarke," he murmured, "another groupie." He plunged into the bushes and was gone from her view in seconds.

"Whaddaya mean, 'another groupie'?" she shouted indignantly after him. "I'm no groupie! Who do you think you are?" But she let her voice trail off as she realized he was probably already well out of earshot. _Of all the things!_ she thought, annoyance at Roarke taking over. _Maybe Roarke really can't produce Dracula, but if he couldn't, why didn't he just say so? Why'd he have to send that…that emaciated fraud?_ She snorted loudly and trudged away into the trees herself, pouting for a moment, till her anger came into its own and she decided to corner Roarke at the main house and demand an explanation for his failure. She meant to make him produce before the weekend was out, or she'd get her money back by any means necessary.

Yet she never got there. A dark figure swathed in a long black cape stepped out of the trees, waylaying her, making her gasp and instantly forget all her objections to what she had thought was a rapidly disintegrating fantasy. Before her stood none other than the legendary Count Dracula himself. She was so busy gawking that he ended up speaking first. "If you please, might I ask for your assistance?"

He sounded even sexier than Bela Lugosi used to portray him, Claudia thought, and she could actually feel her knees withering under her. She'd always thought that was such a cliché; maybe it wasn't after all! "Of course, Count…Your Eminence…what should I call you? Oh, it's such an honor to meet you! You have no idea…" _Claudia, you're babbling! _ "I mean, yes, of course, of course—what's the problem? What can I do?"

The count chuckled low, and Claudia thought she might actually swoon. "I am here on a short visit, and I'm afraid I've become lost. Would you tell me, please, where I can find a certain Jiroušek Viharviz?"

Claudia slowly shook her head, confused. "No…I'm sorry, I've never heard of anyone by that name. I do wish I could help you."

Dracula grunted, looking stymied, and for a split second a fanatical fire scorched his eyes before he regained his composure and focused on her with a smile. "No matter, I'll find him when I must. As to you, lovely lady, you appear to be unescorted. Perhaps you'd care to show me around the island a bit? I'm sure the nightlife here is unparalleled."

"It'd be a singular pleasure, Count," Claudia said, thrilled. "Just tell me where you'd like to go first."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § - October 28, 2007

Roarke and Leslie spent the better part of Sunday morning occupied by the Smith fantasy and didn't return to the main house till less than a half hour before lunchtime. They had barely sat down with Christian and the triplets to their meal when Claudia Barneveld, yawning and looking a bit rumpled, hurried up onto the porch, finger-combing her tousled hair. "Morning, everybody. Or should I say afternoon?"

"Hello, Miss Barneveld," Roarke said, pausing to look questioningly at her.

"You know, I was gonna come here last night and complain about my fantasy, but then you went and granted it after all," she said with an appreciative grin. "You really caught me by surprise, Mr. Roarke. Springing him on me like that unexpectedly…that was great. I just wanted to say thanks." She finally seemed to notice the table. "Oops…I'm sorry, I'm interrupting your lunch. I'll let you get back to it, and thanks again." Before anyone could say anything else, she rushed off the porch.

"You granted her fantasy after all?" Leslie said blankly and peered at her father, who to both hers and Christian's surprise looked a bit baffled. "What does that mean?"

Even as she spoke, though, Roarke frowned with realization and sat back. "It seems that her original quarry has found his way to this island after all. Her words can mean only that, I'm afraid." He glanced at the children, who were listening as they always did, even if they didn't necessarily understand everything they heard. "We'll discuss it later."

It was as well he said this, for at that moment Haruko arrived, breathless, from washing her hands. "Sorry I'm late, I, uh…I had to go, if you know what I mean. I'm really glad I can eat here with all of you. It sure helps not to have to run home every day."

The adults laughed and let her steer the conversation on to other things, but both Roarke and Leslie knew there was an added element of danger behind Claudia Barneveld's fantasy now. The meal passed without incident, but Christian remained behind after it was over and Haruko had taken the children upstairs again; the triplets still liked a nap after lunch, though they no longer slept half the afternoon away as they had when they were smaller. They might have a maximum of ninety minutes to speak freely.

"So she must have met Dracula, then," Leslie speculated, settling into a chair and casting Roarke a quizzical look.

"Yes, I fear so." He noticed Christian looking on and shook his head once or twice before indicating the remaining chair. "You may as well sit down, Christian. There's little point in my sending you back to your office after what you've heard." He had explained to Christian the previous evening the true nature of Jesse Stormwater's fantasy.

"All right—so somehow the dreaded Count Dracula has shown up on the island," the prince said through a sigh. "What do you plan to do about it?"

"I personally can do very little," Roarke said, making Christian frown. "As you are well aware, this island serves as a gateway, if you will, to the world, for creatures who are otherwise thought of as either supernatural or fictional. And while I have ultimate jurisdiction here, I cannot prevent these creatures from gaining access. That's why Mephistopheles pays us the occasional visit, and that's why Count Dracula has apparently arrived here." Just then the phone rang and he picked it up. "Yes?"

"Mr. Roarke, this is Jesse Stormwater. Your Miss Barneveld just dropped in on me and made a most horrendous request of me."

"Indeed? What would that be, if I may ask?"

There was a gusty sigh on the other end. "To put it bluntly, she confronted me and demanded that I give her the bite that would transform her into a vampire."

Roarke's dark eyes went very wide with shock. "Did she!" Christian and Leslie looked at each other, puzzled and both more than a little nervous. When Roarke got that sort of expression, the news had to be very bad.

"I refused, of course. The woman is a thorough enigma. Last evening when I met her, she seemed…different, I suppose. Much different from the way you painted her to me when you first explained about her. And there was something about her that compelled me…I can't truly explain it. All I know is, I felt drawn to her, and I wanted desperately for her to trust me. I needed it, on some elemental level. But when I told her of my problem, she was upset. She called me 'cut-rate', if I recall correctly. I left her then, for I realized she truly is a groupie after all. What on earth do you think she can possibly do for me? What could she have to do with your granting my fantasy? And have you learned anything?"

Roarke relaxed in his chair and smiled, ever so faintly. "Trust, Mr. Stormwater. From all I have learned, only trust will truly save you from your fate."

"Bah! As if that will do me any good!" Stormwater spat. "I don't understand you at all, Roarke, not at all. I've begun to think I've wasted my time coming here." He hung up on Roarke without further ado.

"What'd he say?" Leslie asked instantly.

Roarke summarized the conversation in a couple of sentences, and Christian and Leslie looked at each other again. "She wants to be turned into a vampire?" Christian asked incredulously.

Roarke nodded. "That is her true reason for requesting her fantasy. I suspected from the beginning, but now Mr. Stormwater has only confirmed my fears."

"You should have refused her," said Christian with disgust.

"No," Roarke said softly. "There is little doubt, now that I know what I do, that Miss Barneveld will play a vital role in the realization of Mr. Stormwater's fantasy."

‡ ‡ ‡

Jesse Stormwater had been pacing his bungalow for more than an hour, trying to make sense of the phone call he'd had with Roarke earlier that day, waiting for sundown so he could go to the main house and hash it out in further depth with his host. He needed the man's help and advice—not only about his fantasy, but about Claudia Barneveld too.

What had happened? For a fleeting few minutes, they'd had a connection that he had been able to feel in the deepest part of his soul. For just those precious few moments, he'd had hope, real hope, for the first time in too many decades to count. Someone who would accept him for himself, someone who wouldn't run away from him in terror, a companion, perhaps something even more…he had foolishly read all this into his brief encounter with Claudia Barneveld, till he'd taken that leap of faith and found himself tumbling off a cliff. So she wanted only Dracula? The woman was a fool, and he was better off without her.

Or so he kept telling himself. Somehow he wasn't quite convinced of the truth of this; he simply couldn't forget the wonder of that hope and joy that had tantalized him with the promise of freedom at last. Damn it, he'd _seen_ it in her eyes! He knew she'd felt that same connection, the same spark. But it seemed her obsession with Dracula ruled her life. Who was he in the face of the attraction the count presented to her? What did he have that might possibly steer her attention away from the count and to him?

He threw an impatient glance out the window and breathed out harshly; it was dark enough for him to venture outside without harm. He wasted no further time leaving the bungalow and striding as quickly as he could to the main house. He found Roarke alone, working at the elegant desk in front of the tall shuttered windows. Roarke looked up and smiled a welcome. "Ah, Mr. Stormwater…please come in. What can I do for you?"

"You can help me, that's what you can do for me." Agitated, Stormwater began to pace the Persian rug; it merely added to his irritation that Roarke just sat relaxed, watching him wear a track in the carpet. "You can tell me what I must do once and for all to rid myself of this accursed affliction of mine."

Roarke half-smiled, just a little. "I should think you'd be well aware of the answer by now, Mr. Stormwater."

He stopped and glared at Roarke in frustration. "But it's Dracula! You know the stories as well as I do. He's pure evil; he will be very difficult to defeat, maybe impossible. I want to be cured, Roarke, not destroyed, for the love of heaven."

"One thing that I _have_ discovered is that it is necessary for one of the count's own kind to deliver the killing blow to make it permanent. Therefore, there is none better than you to do it. As I have said," Roarke reflected, rising to his feet and slowly rounding the desk, "it's often necessary to face your greatest fear before you know your greatest triumph." He paused long enough to smile. "But you'll have help."

Stormwater stopped walking out of sheer disbelief. "Have you decided to accompany me and use your powers against that fiend, then?"

The grandfather clock chimed the three-quarter hour and both men glanced at it; it said a quarter to nine. Stormwater was stunned; had he really spent all that time going around and around on the question of Claudia Barneveld and the torment of his having to face the count who had damned him to this non-existence? "I didn't realize it was so late."

"It's later than you think, Mr. Stormwater. I for my part can do very little to help you, except advise you. This I can give you, however: Miss Barneveld will be instrumental in the realization of your fantasy."

"Oh yes, your Miss Barneveld. An impossible female. Don't you realize she's hopelessly obsessed? All she sees is Dracula. I'm not sure she even believed me when I first admitted to her that I'm a vampire. I saw doubt in her eyes for just that moment before she derided me as a discount version of what she was looking for. I thought…I truly believed for just one shining moment that here was someone who could give my existence some sort of meaning, even if I couldn't be cured. She gave me hope, and then snatched it away from me without warning. How cruel can one person be?"

"Miss Barneveld has a little lesson of her own to learn yet," Roarke observed, smiling still, strolling away with his hands in his pockets. "I daresay she will either learn it tonight, or never learn it at all."

Stormwater made a scoffing noise. "If all she wants is to become a vampire, then it will be the most expensive lesson she ever learns."

Roarke heard the undertones in his voice and turned to gaze at him, eyebrows up. "I see," he murmured. After a few seconds he cleared his throat a bit and came to face Stormwater eye to eye. "The bottom line is this: you must face Dracula if you have any hope whatsoever of being cured. There is simply no other way. And your attitude toward the confrontation will have great bearing on its outcome."

‡ ‡ ‡

Leslie came back to the main house when summoned by Roarke, but not without Christian, who argued with her the entire way from their house to Roarke's. She had to work at shutting him out the whole trip, but as they came into the foyer she finally said in a weary voice, "For fate's sake, Christian, shut up, please! Even Father was never this overprotective of me. What is it with you?"

Roarke looked up from his desk, eyes bright with curiosity and some amusement. "Is there a problem?"

"Christian says there's no reason on earth I should be here, and he wouldn't let me come up here alone. Ever since he found out Jesse Stormwater's a vampire, he's got this idea in his head that somewhere down the line, I'm going to get involved somehow."

"Well, there isn't," Christian insisted when Roarke's gaze shifted to him. "Can't you handle this on your own? Is there really such a need for Leslie to be here?"

"Why do you object so strenuously?" Roarke inquired. His tone said he really wanted to know; he didn't seem annoyed.

"Because Dracula is on the island," Christian told him, in the tone of one spelling out the most basic explanation to a young child. "Unless I read my Bram Stoker wrong, I recall that Dracula's prey was invariably young women. Not men, women. Leslie is a woman. If you take her with you when you bring this fantasy to its conclusion, Dracula is likely to zero in on her for fresh blood—literally!"

Roarke's eyes sparkled and he grinned at the prince, who actually reared back in shocked astonishment at his expression. "Having heard that, I sympathize with Leslie. I requested that she come here merely to handle whatever incidentals may come up while I am busy making my final rounds for the weekend."

Christian stood there gaping at him, while Leslie burst out laughing and patted her husband on the shoulder. _"Told_ you you were overreacting."

Christian grunted, still not satisfied. "And just suppose that count happens to be wandering the island and spies Leslie in here working…"

Leslie's laughter abruptly ceased and she threw her hands in the air. "I can't win!"

"Dracula has other matters to attend to," Roarke assured Christian, rising. "He can't be bothered with my daughter or, for that matter, any of the other women on the island… save perhaps one." He frowned heavily, then refocused. "In her zeal to achieve the ultimate objective for which she came here, Claudia Barneveld has placed herself in the sort of danger of which she may be aware, but does not care about. And in the meantime, he will find himself face to face with Jesse Stormwater."

"Hmph." Christian folded his arms over his chest, scowling. "Perhaps I'm a nag, as Leslie's been claiming all day long, but I won't be happy till this is all over, whatever the outcome may be. Even if this is nothing but a crock and Stormwater is merely suffering from an advanced case of porphyria, I still have no wish to expose my family to it."

"So he's going to sit here and stare fixedly at me till he has inarguable word that he doesn't have to worry anymore about my coming home with a couple of holes in the side of my neck," Leslie muttered in exasperation, taking her father's place behind the desk. "I don't even want to be there to witness this ultimate showdown, and he's still having seizures over what he thinks is my guaranteed exposure to Count Dracula."

Roarke shook his head, still amused, and caught Christian's eye. "I must admit, you greatly raise my curiosity as to the reason for your extreme revulsion to the merest suggestion that Leslie have anything to do with the Stormwater/Barneveld fantasy."

"Oh, he already told me about how it ties in with his memories of certain lessons he got in his Royal Comportment classes growing up," said Leslie. "Namely, the ones about all the royal inbreeding and the hideous deformities that resulted."

Roarke's amusement became surprise. "My dear Christian, I fail to see why you should be so alarmed. Your family never subscribed to the practice of marrying strictly royals. Most of your ancestors were married to commoners or nobility from within your country, without fear of their having grandparents in common."

Christian eyed him, while Leslie wondered with a little grin if Roarke was speaking from extensive perusal of history books, or personal knowledge. From the expression on the prince's face, she had a feeling he was wondering the same thing. Finally Christian said, "I just don't want to find myself married to a vampire. I'm too old for the nightlife."

Roarke peered oddly at him for a moment. "You need not fear," he assured the prince. "Although you're quite welcome, of course, if you wish to keep Leslie company until I return. Please excuse me."

"Cute," said Leslie, once Roarke had departed and Christian had appropriated one of the leather chairs in front of the desk.

"I was serious," he said, raising an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes and began poring over a stack of business mail that Roarke had set aside.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § - October 28, 2007

Jesse Stormwater knew he really didn't have a choice in the matter, after all was said and done. Roarke was right: if he expected to be freed of this existence, he was going to have to face down his age-old nemesis once and for all. He had the weapon he needed—a carefully prepared wooden stake, one end of which he had whittled to the sharpest point he could make—but just destroying Dracula wouldn't be enough. He'd inferred from Roarke's words that this was only part of what he needed to accomplish in order to be cured; however, Roarke hadn't explained what else needed to be done.

But he'd been thinking while he whittled, and he had a feeling it must have something to do with that stubborn Claudia Barneveld. So now, with the clock nearing that all-important hour of midnight, he was keeping a sharp eye out for her on his meanderings through the jungle paths, in hopes of warning her and making her see sense. Precisely why he was so fixated on that, he wasn't sure. Had it been anyone else, he might have just allowed her to go on her merry way and let her face her own consequences. Claudia, though, had touched him somehow, somewhere. It must have been the silly banter they'd traded for a couple of minutes at the luau the previous evening, before he'd discovered who she really was.

In truth, deep within he had a feeling it was more than just the need to deny Dracula another victim, but he wasn't ready to face that right now. Maybe when he'd dispatched the count, he could concentrate on other affairs. That bit of business was taking up all the space in his brain at the moment; and while he would never have let it show, he was terrified. The count had such power—he must, if he had found some way to reanimate himself and get to this island even after his destruction all those years ago.

He was thinking so hard that the gradual increase of bushes rustling somewhere ahead of him made only the slightest impression, until he rounded a bend and actually came upon the cause. Not ten feet away, Claudia Barneveld stood gazing up into the face of a very hungry-looking Count Dracula. Stormwater froze in shock; the terror boiled up in him and he ducked back around the bend before either of them saw him. A voice in his head berated him for cowardice, but his courage had deserted him and he needed a chance to regroup.

"So what did you think of Bela Lugosi's portrayal, anyway?" Claudia was asking, to Stormwater's disbelief. Was the woman really that shallow?

Dracula simply stared at her, as if unable to understand the language she spoke. "I know not of what you speak. I merely want to know if you have seen Jiroušek Viharviz, and if you tell me once again that you have not, I have no other choice."

"I haven't," said Claudia, frowning. "I told you that before. I've never heard of this Yeer-oo-shek person, and I wouldn't know him if I saw him."

Dracula growled, then seized her and pushed her head back with an almost audible snap. Claudia gasped, struggled briefly, then seemed to realize what the count was about to do—and, unbelievably, submitted. Stormwater watched in horror as her eyes drifted closed and a tiny smile spread over her features. "Now," she whispered.

It was as much a signal for Stormwater as for the count, and he knew it. It was his very last chance. "Stop!" he shouted, exploding out of the foliage with as much noise as he could make. Claudia and the count both gaped at him, startled. "I'm the one you want, Dracula. Leave her alone." He grasped his stake so hard his hands trembled.

"What are you talking about?" Claudia demanded. "And what do you think you're doing here, anyway?"

Stormwater glared at her. "I know what you're trying to do. I know your intentions, and I also know that you're a great fool."

Dracula silenced the nearby night noises with a harsh laugh. "It is you who are the fool here, Jiroušek Viharviz. I should have known it would be necessary to come here before I could find you again. Prepare for your end."

"Perhaps you should be preparing for yours," Stormwater suggested low, raising the stake. Dracula snarled, knocked the long staff out of his hands with a ferocious blow, and leaped on him.

Claudia Barneveld stood gawking speechlessly, unable to believe her eyes. Dracula had never quite been like this—wanting vengeance—and why he wanted Jesse Stormwater was an utter mystery to her. Dracula's voice rose in a roar just then: "I told you long ago that you could never truly get away! What you are will follow you forever!"

"I-I'd rather be dead," Stormwater gasped out, fighting against the count with all he had in him. That, Claudia realized suddenly, wasn't going to be enough. Stormwater didn't have the necessary strength to do more than barely hold his own against the count, who would eventually gain the upper hand. The two men rolled around on the dirt, snarling, struggling, trading the occasional insult, but clearly Stormwater was losing.

"You will never be dead," Dracula managed. Strength he might have, but Stormwater was giving him a fair run for his money. "This is the existence you are doomed to, for all eternity. Could you not have been…an obedient childe and simply…accepted it?"

"Never!" Stormwater panted. "Never. You may own my body, but you will never own my mind. I am…not…your…puppet!"

Dracula's voice rose again in an enraged roar and he lifted a hand containing something sharp and shiny. Claudia could take no more; she screamed and leaped on the count, yanking him away. "No! Let him go! You can't have him," she screeched. "I love him!"

Dracula actually cringed, baring his fangs. "I should have sunk my teeth into you last evening when first we met," he growled.

"Claudia, don't get involved," Stormwater begged, breathless but trying to wriggle out from under the count with whatever energy he had left.

"I'm not letting this…monster take you without a fight," Claudia shouted frantically. "I love you, Jesse Stormwater."

Stormwater, for his part, noticed with amazement that every time she said those three words, Dracula flinched and shrank away from her, as if there were something about them that harmed him. Experimentally, he offered, "I love you too."

"Noooooo!" howled Dracula, raising his arms as if to shield himself from some overwhelming force. Claudia spotted the stake on the ground and grabbed it, raising it.

"No," Stormwater gasped, rolling onto his hands and knees. "Please, Claudia. I must do it. Please."

"Hurry," Claudia cried, giving him the stake. Stormwater fell back, getting into position, just as the count gathered new strength and realized what was about to happen.

"You'll never succeed," he said, and for the first time Claudia caught the full force of the evil that Dracula exuded. She staggered back a step or two, her hands going to her mouth as if to prevent being sick.

The count grabbed hold of the pointed end of the stake and pulled at it, hard. Stormwater tried to reassert his grip, but the stake was slowly slipping through his hands, and he released a desperate cry. "Claudia!"

She saw it too. "Jesse, don't let him take it!" she screamed. "I love you—I love you!"

Dracula fell back, howling again, and Stormwater seized the chance. Throwing all his weight behind the stake, he lunged at the count. His aim was true, and Dracula loosed the most unearthly scream Claudia had ever heard before collapsing to the ground.

Stormwater hovered over the motionless body, still pushing down on the stake with all his fading strength, trembling violently. "He must be destroyed," he muttered feverishly, eyes glazed. "He must be destroyed…"

"He is destroyed," Claudia insisted, kneeling beside him. "It's all over, Jesse. You've beaten Count Dracula."

Stormwater fell to his hands and knees again, leaving the stake quivering in the lifeless body. Even in the dark, he seemed paler than ever; he looked depleted, as though whatever force were keeping him going was finally draining from him. "I need…" he whispered.

"You need me," Claudia said firmly, pulling him into her embrace. "Just as much as I need you, Jesse." She heard his rasping breath, took in his white face, registered his shaking body and retreating energy; and she knew all of a sudden what he most needed in order to be whole again. "Jesse—take my blood. Now, please." She tilted her head, exposing her neck to give him access. He moaned in anguish and began to lower his own head.

"No, stop," said someone, and both Stormwater and Claudia jerked abruptly around, afraid that Dracula had somehow circumvented his demise. But it was Roarke, watching them from a small distance, smiling gently.

"Mr. Roarke," they said as one, and Claudia added, "But look at him. He needs my blood or he…"

"No, that's no longer necessary," Roarke told her, his smile widening. "You need not become a vampire yourself, and Mr. Stormwater no longer needs blood to sustain himself. Please rise, both of you."

Claudia clutched Stormwater's hands as she stood up; and Jesse himself arose slowly, feeling drained, yet somehow newly energized. "How…I feel better," he breathed. "I don't have that desperate, gnawing craving anymore. How has this come to be?"

"You have both brought it about," Roarke explained. "You performed a selfless act by intervening to save Miss Barneveld from Count Dracula's fateful bite; and then she returned that selflessness by declaring her love for you and entering the battle on your behalf. And she completed that act of selflessness by offering herself to you, knowing full well that it would doom her to the existence of the undead. It was the final step needed to at last free you of your affliction." They stared at him, and he smiled more broadly still, nodding. "Yes, it's true, Mr. Stormwater. You are no longer a vampire. You are free."

Claudia's face lit with exuberance. "Jesse, it's true! We did it! We really did it!"

"Yes," he agreed through a disbelieving chuckle that began to grow into a delighted laugh. "We must have done it, because for the first time in centuries, I'm hungry!"

Roarke grinned and Claudia joined in Stormwater's laughter. "Why don't you two come along with me," Roarke offered. "I'm sure we can accommodate you."

§ § § - October 29, 2007

Jesse Stormwater and Claudia Barneveld arrived together on Monday morning, and stopped only long enough for hasty but heartfelt thanks before turning as if to head for the plane. "Hey, wait," Leslie exclaimed. "You're welcome, of course, but what's the hurry?"

They paused, looked back and laughed. "We didn't mean to seem rude," Claudia said. "We really do both appreciate everything you've done for us."

"More than you can imagine," Stormwater agreed, nodding for emphasis. "But you see, we don't want to waste another moment planning our wedding. Neither of us is getting any younger, you know." He winked, then urged Claudia forward and started for the plane with energetic, ground-eating strides. "Come on, Claudia, I want to know what they're serving for breakfast on the plane!"

Leslie let out a laugh, returning their final hasty waves from the dock. "Wait till he finds out what airplane food really tastes like."

Roarke laughed too. "No matter, Leslie. He now has the rest of his and Miss Barneveld's lives to reacquaint himself, not only with food, but with all the pleasures life has to offer." He watched them for one last moment, then gestured to his daughter. "I daresay we have just enough time to get home for our own breakfast."

* * *

_I hope to have something else up much sooner and faster next time, but don't hold me to it…summer vacation will be here soon and my stepsons will be around all day long within another month or so. But I'll do my best to try to get another story posted before then. Meantime, I look forward to your comments on this one. Any errors contained within are solely my own; I've just borrowed the original vampire tale and played around with it to fit the story, so please be easy on me if you have criticisms._


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